As I thought of your sweet “I will;”
And long I stood in that slippery place,
For I heard our waterfall spill,
Spill over the rocks and run on in the race,
The mill-race down by the mill,
From the tree where I feebly stated my case,
To the fence where you answered “I will.”
The drowsy buttercup went to bed
Nor left a lock of her hair;
The great sunflower he nodded his head